


The Anarchist Files

by Ghostsaberwolf



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25519798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostsaberwolf/pseuds/Ghostsaberwolf
Summary: A rewrite of the Dresden Files with Harry playing the true Chaotic Good/Neutral asshole he was always meant to be. Also trying to tone down the absolute Horniness of the descriptions of feminine characters.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. Business Practices

Corpses are not exactly strange to police. It is ostensibly their job to investigate them. They are also not strange to wizards, though the connotations there are somewhat darker. However, these corpses were strange to both Lieutenant Karrin Murphy of Chicago PD and Harry Dresden of the White Council of Wizards for the simple fact that their hearts had been ripped out.

From the inside, seemingly.

"No signs of a weapon," the awkwardly tall wizard mutters to himself, carefully stepping through the crime scene. "Fancy clothes, mood music, alcohol. Big night interrupted by a third party with no interest in joining them." He looks up. "Considering we've got one heart thrown against the headboard and the other stuck to the ceiling, I'd guess they were never even here."

"Nothing for anyone to find," Murphy says frustratedly. "Here's hoping you've got more to go on than just 'it's magic.'"

"Maybe if you tell me who the victims were."

She takes a deep breath and says, "Jennifer Stanton of the Velvet Room and Tommy Tomm, Marcone's right hand."

"Fuck."

"Enlightening."

Dresden rolls his eyes before turning to look his much shorter coworker in the eye. "An up and coming vampiress sends an employee to look after the city's top crime lord's right hand and neither make it home because of a spell. I'll be elbowing both of them out of the way to get any kind of answers on this one, Murph."

"How do you think I feel?"

"Point."

They sit in silence for a moment, letting their minds process before Murphy asks, "How did they manage this? You mentioned that to do direct magic over distance you need a sample of some sort, right? Hair or nails or something."

He nods. "Her hair is dyed. Might be a place to start. I'll start following up with Bianca. If she's got a beef with some kind of sorceror, she'll be more likely to tell a wizard than a cop."

She snorts. "Wanna take Marcone, too? More likely to tell a PI than a cop if his guy was in on something."

"Not to mention a crackpot. Who'll believe a wizard, right?"

They both laugh, trying to shrug off the smell of death undercutting the soft tones of mood music still coming from the stereo. "There's something you're not telling me," Murphy says, cutting the silence. It was a statement, not an accusation.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"There's several things and several reasons."

"I've got time."

"Not yet, Murph," he says, turning to leave. "Most of it isn't pertinent, and even some of what is may not be important."

"At least tell me the how."

"Not a clue. Could be a ritual, could be an external power source or artifact, might be a small cult, maybe even just one pissed off ex girlfriend or something. I won't know more until I can get a whiff of it again, and it'll be too late by then."

"Dammit, Dresden," she snaps, following him out of the room. "Two people are dead and it might cause a showdown between two heavy hitters if it isn't handled right. I don't need you pulling your lone cowboy in a duster bullshit right now. Give me something."

He hesitates. "I have an appointment with a client. Monica somethng, said her husband is missing and the police can't or won't help. Call me paranoid, but I find it suspicious that my lack of clients ends at the same time as a double murder."

She eyes him, annoyed and almost angry. "So you're telling me that a woman wants to report her missing husband to literally the only wizard in the book on the exact same night two people are killed by magic and you didn't immediately think it would be relevant."

"When you put it like that, it does sound kind of stupid, yeah."

Murphy rolls her eyes. "Get to your appointment. If you can find out what our murder method is here, that'll be a huge help. In the meantime, I'll follow up on the stylist and..." She trails off as a dark blue Cadillac pulls up and a mountain of a man steps out.

"Mr. Marcone would like to speak to you, Dresden," he says, his emphasis implying that significantly more than 'speaking' would happen if the suggestion wasn't obeyed.

Murphy glances at the wizard out of the corner of her eye, adjusting her stance slightly as her aikido training prepares her for a potential fight.

He waves her off gently, looking the big man in the face but not in the eye. "Mr. Marcone seems to be right there. Maybe he can speak for himself, unless he needs a translator."

A deep laugh comes from inside the car. "At ease, Hendricks. Mr. Dresden is not exactly known for his quiet manner. Please, a moment of your time, Wizard Dresden. I promise to make it worth it."

Dresden and Murphy share a look at the subtle emphasis on the wizard, nod in agreement to compare notes later, and he gets in the car.

"Much appreciated, Mr. Dresden," Marcone says smoothly. "Now, at the risk of being rude, I have a business proposal. I understand you consult for the police department."

A snort. "Depends. With some exceptions, I feel like I'm the one usually doing all the work."

Marcone smiles. "Lieutenant Murphy is excellent at her job, true enough. So if I were to offer you your standard rate to stay out of her way for, say, the next two weeks or so, would you be comfortable with that arrangement? Cash up front and your reputation speaks to your honesty."

Dresden pauses, considering. Murphy would likely solve the case, especially if she was right and his new client was somehow inexplicably tied to the murders. On the other hand... no knowing how many people might die in the meantime.

"Fraid not, Johnny," he says, grinning impishly and looking the other man dead in the eye. "I've got a reputation, as you said, and a conscience to match."

"Good," Marcone says, matching his gaze. For just a second too long.

Dresden's vision flips, and he sees John Marcone in a different light. Gone is the business suit, the air of money and polite intimidation. His clothes have become a uniform, his posture rigid military. A small blade sits on his lap, unsheathed, bloody as a slaughterhouse, but somehow not staining his clothes. The only blood anywhere other than the blade is a single, black stain on his left hand. And Dresden notices Marcone's eyes have become a pale, glowing gold, slitted like a tiger considering his next prey.

Marcone looks at Dresden and, for the first time, Sees him. He is covered in scars, bloodied, but still grinning, defiant. He holds a staff in his hand, and a shield expands outward from the bracelet on his wrist as the staff becomes a spear. His canvas duster becomes proper leather armor, glyphs magically branded into its surface. But over his shoulder, there was a dark, hulking presence, vague in its form but clearly malicious in intent. Its reflection in Dresden's sparkling amber eyes shows Marcone that the wizard knows of its existence and perhaps even intent, but also that he refuses to be cowed by its threat.

"Not often that I'm impressed, Mr. Dresden," Marcone says as though nothing had happened. "You are coming dangerously close."

"Always happy to be dangerously impressive," Dresden answers, struggling to not reel after having his soul touched by what he is essentially seeing as an apex predator at this exact moment. "Since I've declined your offer, are we done here?"

"It is customary to provide opportunity for a counter offer, if you have one ready. If not, yes, we are done here for the moment."

He stops, considering. He was being given a chance to leverage the biggest crime boss and one of the most dangerous people in the whole city. Not a chance to be passed up lightly.

"Tell you what, John. We have a unique opportunity here. Seems to me you want this dealt with as efficiently as possible. I have incentive to do the same. I have a couple leads to follow already, and Lieutenant Murphy has one or two more. I'm not above keeping you in the loop provided you help pay the bills. Might even be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Marcone says nothing for a long moment as the Cadillac pulls to a stop in front of Dresden's building in time for his appointment. He nods and reaches out a hand as Hendricks opens the door. "Deal."

Dresden takes it.


	2. Sorcery and Susan

Monica Sells is the picture of wholesome housewife, from the undyed ash brown hair to the long skirt and riding boots. The only giveaways that something isn't right are that she's writing frantically on a notepad and she's doing it outside the office of the only wizard private investigator in the city.

Who is currently wheezing his way out of the stairwell looking like he needs to do more cardio.

Dresden gives her a quick once over, noting the lack of jewelry, expensive but understated clothes, and oversized purse before coming to the conclusion that he was probably stalling more than strictly necessary. He straightens his duster, props up his best customer smile, and approaches her, making just enough noise to signal his presence without startling her.

"Miss Monica, I presume," he says, extending his hand. "Harry Dresden."

Her gaze snaps from her notepad, and she bolts upright, stashing the pad in her bag. She eyes him nervously, looking like she's trying not to bolt for the door and studiously avoiding looking at his eyes. "Good day, Mr. Dresden," she says, tentatively shaking his hand.

"My apologies for being late," Dresden says carefully, maneuvering around her to avoid invading her space as he unlocks his office door. "I had a last minute consult with the police, and I thought it would be a little less involved."

"So do the police, uh..." She trails off, gesturing vaguely at his door, which reads simply, "Harry Dresden, Wizard, Private Investigator."

"More or less. Sometimes it gets just a little bit weird and they want my opinion on the why. It keeps folk from asking if they've investigated every single possibility."

"Does that happen often?"

"More than people seem to think, actually, but not quite enough to keep me around full time. Would you like some coffee?"

"No, thank you."

He putters around slightly longer than needed to make a simple cup of coffee, both to let her find her footing and to recover from the shock of the soul gaze with Marcone. That would take time to get over. Pouring himself a cup, he blows on it gently before taking a sip and sitting behind his desk. "Okay, Monica, what exactly is it that I can help you with today?"

"Oh, well, I mentioned on the phone that, um, my husband is..." She gestures vaguely.

"Missing?"

"Yes," she says, almost relieved. "But not really mysteriously or anything. He packed a bag and left. But he didn't take much, he didn't say anything to anyone, and he hasn't been in touch at all since."

"Huh. And how long ago did he leave?"

"This is the third day."

"To clarify, do you mean you came home from work and he had already been and gone, or did he pack a little extra for work? A difference of a few hours might be significant."

"Oh, uh," she says, trying to concentrate. "Well, I don't actually work. My husband did until just recently, but he was fired and no one would tell him why. I think it was some time in the morning when I saw him last, but I didn't notice he was actually gone until lunch time."

Dresden pulls out his own paper and pencil, making a few notes. "Good to know, absolutely. Where was he fired from, exactly?"

"SilverCo. They're an investment advisement firm, I guess, telling people where to safely and smartly spend money for a good profit."

"Was he one of their advisors, or did he do paperwork for them? His position might tell me where to look."

"Oh, he was one of their best people. Wonderful with numbers and formulas and such. Even made his spending money off the stock market."

A frown. "This is all excellent information, but it's leading me to another question that's fairly important. Why me? There are probably a dozen other private investigators in the city, not to mention some good detectives on the force. What do you need a wizard for?"

She swallows, her nerves returning in full force. "After he lost his job, my husband... well, he started doing everything he could to take care of us. He spent more and more time alone, but it wasn't all on work. I found some... well, some books about magic. Tarot cards, spellcasting, rituals, that sort of thing. Hopefully, someone like you can speak to him in terms he'll understand so he can come back to me."

Dresden raises an eyebrow and leans back in his chair. A desperate man who's lost his job, grasping at every straw he can reach. Magic wouldn't be unheard of, but a rich mistress was more likely, especially if he had disappeared. It wasn't like magic was the easiest thing to pick up off the street and out of some books. Nor was it likely that a relatively fresh faced practicioner could pull off a spell to rip out two hearts.

Still, the timing was damned uncanny.

"Alright, Monica, just a couple more questions, and I think I'll have a good place to start. First off, does your husband have any aliases or maybe he took your name when you married?"

She shakes her head. "No, no, he just uses his own name. I heard that some people pick a new one with the whole... magic... thing... but I only ever heard him use the one I knew."

"Which would be...?"

Monica looks at her hands. "Vincent."

He sighs. "Monica, let me be frank with you for a minute. I understand that magic has certain... connotations, let's call them. 'Suffer not a witch to live' and suchlike. Granted, there are people that abuse it, but most folks are just like the rest of mankind, the good, the bad, and the ugly all at once. I don't consider myself a terribly good person, but up against some of the awful things I've seen, I'm certainly not an evil one. I'm here to help as best I can, which is what the ad in the phone book and the office are for. In order to help, I need you to trust me a little bit. So I'm going to ask again, what's your husband's name?"

Hesitation. Then, "Victor. Victor Sells."

Dresden nods, a gentle, genuine smile on his face. "Thank you. Now, is there anywhere Victor might go to spend a few days? Do you guys have a summer home, a favorite vacation spot, somewhere you road tripped to recently?"

Another nod. "We have a house on Lake Providence, just over the state line. He might be there."

"Any friends or family he might go to?"

"I don't think so. Most of his friends were connected to work and his family..."

"Not in the picture, I'm guessing."

"I've never met them. I don't think he's even talked to them since we got married."

"Fair enough." He leans over his note pad, spilling onto a second page.

After a moment, Monica breaks the silence. "Well, Mr. Dresden? Do you think you can help me?"

"I think so," he answers, finishing his scribbling and folding his hands together on the desk. "If possible, though, there are a few things that can make my life easier. A look at his collection of books and tarot cards would be a good start. If you have a good picture of him, that'll at least tell me exactly who I'm looking for. Last but not least, with your permission, I'd like to have a look at the lake house to see if there's anything useful there."

"Okay. I think that's doable." She gives him the address and brief directions to the house, seeming more at ease now that something was being done.

"Alright, then," Dresden begins, finishing his notes. "Last chance to go find someone else, Monica. My rates aren't cheap, and I understand if you prefer another investigator."

"No," she says, shaking her head with certainty bordering on confidence. "We have quite a bit in savings, and I don't want to take the risk of someone else not knowing how to talk to Victor in terms he'll understand. He... well, he's pretty deep in."

"I understand. I'll do my level best. Now, a retainer is customary, and I charge fifty an hour. I itemize my expenses and my work hours, so you know what you're paying for down to the dollar. As I mentioned earlier, I do have other cases, so I can't promise immediate results, as I can't prioritize specific clients over others as a professional courtesy and respect."

She nods emphatically and pulls three envelopes out of her purse. She hands him one. "There's eight hundred dollars inside. Is that enough to start?"

Dresden's eyes flick to the calendar on the wall and the red circle a couple days before. Eight hundred would make up the difference on his rent, plus get started on next month's. "That'll do nicely, yes," he says, taking the envelope and setting it aside. "And are those for me as well, or do you need to make a stop at a PO box?"

Monica smiles weakly at the joke, handing him an even bulkier envelope that clearly had some kind of object inside rather than papers. "My husband took most of his books with him, but I found that in our night stand. I thought it might be important. The other has a photo and my contact information. When can I expect to hear from you?"

He takes the envelopes, stashing the money and the papers in his duster. "I'll call you as soon as I get something solid. Tomorrow afternoon at earliest, I think, but it'll probably be the day after. Is that alright?"

"Absolutely, thank you so much for your help," she says, getting up and practically bolting out the door. Dresden makes a face and shakes his head at the door slowly closing on her retreating footsteps as he opens the third envelope to see what kind of talisman Victor Sells had left his wife.

A scorpion drops out of the envelope and bounces a couple of times before somehow landing on its feet.

The wizard jumps back almost a foot and nearly blasts it before he realizes it's preserved in some kind of glaze. A small leather cord was wrapped around the tail to make it into an amulet, though whether it was intended as a protection or some kind of hex was unclear. Either way, it wasn't a pleasant object.

He shrugs, setting the mummified scorpion aside and starts making his usual calls around town for a missing person, starting with the morgues and then dipping into a few local hedge witches and such that he knew in the local community, just in case Sells had made some friends his wife hadn't known about. Nothing turned up but it pays to be thorough.

The scorpion watched the whole time. He could swear it moved once, but he never caught it again. Hanging up on the last phone call of the day, he stares at it for a moment.

It doesn't move.

Neither does he.

"I need a drink," he tells it, swiping it into the garbage as he takes it outside.

As usual when he needs a drink, Dresden heads to McAnally's pub, a little hole in the ground a few blocks from his office that caters to the local supernatural scene. The whole place is designed to minimize weird happenings that concentrated magical energy tends to cause, like shorting out electronics and such. Though the ceiling fans tend to give the clientele something to look out for.

Another reason for Dresden to have a headache.

"Hey, Mac," he says, rubbing the spot he didn't get under the fan in time. "Steak sandwich, fries, and an ale, please. Long day and a longer night ahead."

"Mmmm," Mac says, pouring the ale and staring past the wizard into the middle distance, his standard practice to avoid offending or Seeing his customers. No one ever comments on it out of both respect and understanding.

"Hear about what happened at the Madison hotel?"

"Mhm."

"Stars and stones, Mac, I thought I'd seen bad, but this was awful." Dresden grabs one of Mac's papers he keeps at the bar to pass the time while the barkeep gets the food going. "Damn, more Three Eye incidents. Have you heard anything fishy in the community lately? If this stuff is what it claims, it could be a problem for us."

"Just rumors," Mac answers, raking the wood in the grill to even out the heat. "Nothing solid."

"Figures. Thanks for keeping an ear out, though."

"Mm." Mac turns, plate in hand. "You were followed, Harry."

Dresden panics for a moment, mentally tallying the people in the room. Just two regulars in a corner table, plus him and Mac. Which means... He smiles when he smells the perfume.

"Buy you a drink, Susie?"

"You'll have to tell me how you do that one day," Susan says, sitting on the bar stool next to him.

"Powers of observation. And no, you may not ask what I'm working on, missy. This is a date, not a working dinner."

"Oh, fuck off, Dresden," she says through a grin and a chuckle. "I need a story. Your last case was a while ago, and there haven't been any good goings on since."

"Can't help you," he says through a bite of his sandwich, gesturing at Mac to pour another ale for the lady. "The city doesn't like when consultants blab and I don't have anything else interesting going on just now."

"Pleeeease, Harry," she says, lacing her fingers together and holding her arms down like an innocent child asking for candy. He also notices it tightens the V of her shirt Just So, which is absolutely deliberate and absolutely not working. He notices this very sternly.

"No, and that's my final answer."

"Let's play yes and no, then."

"No."

"Any leads?"

"No."

"Were the victims murdered magically?"

"No."

"Is Chicago PD relying too much on outside help?"

"No."

"Do you mind going to dinner with me Saturday?"

"No."

"Awesome. Your place at nine?"

"Wait, what?" Harry looks at her, not quite sure what just happened. Susan smiles.

"The Pump Room at the Ambassador East. Best steak outside of the South and the most romantic atmosphere. Can you scrounge up a jacket and tie for the occasion?"

He shakes his head, processing. "Just to be clear, you're asking me on a dinner date Saturday?"

Susan smirks. "Yes."

He rolls his eyes. "Okay, sure. Dinner Saturday. Jacket and tie. Very doable."

"Nine o'clock at your place," she says, smirking. He determinedly doesn't notice the smugness behind it. "See you then." She kisses his cheek and walks away, throwing a smoldering look over her shoulder at him just to keep it going as she walks out the door.

Harry looks at the door, then at Mac. "Am I always that dumb, or does she just have that effect?"

Mac smirks and says nothing.

He sighs. "Dammit."


End file.
